


threats for a promise

by Irrwisch



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Short, Sick Character, Sick Husk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irrwisch/pseuds/Irrwisch
Summary: Husk’s run out of booze and it’s too hot inside. Since he can’t pass out without booze, he braces the outside world to face Rhodney, He Who Owns The Liquor StoreIn other news, Husk is miserable.Continuation of "dancing in the dark", but knowledge is not required.
Relationships: Alastor & Husk (Hazbin Hotel), Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 78





	threats for a promise

**Author's Note:**

> It continues the story "dancing in the dark" -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/22873378 ;but you don't have to read that one.  
> Yes, it's very short, I know-

He woke up, and it was dark. It’s been dark for a while now, he remembered. He couldn’t be bothered to turn the fucking lights on - who’d even give the slightest fuck? It was too hot in here, though. Maybe he should peel himself from the couch and open a window, but it sounded like way too much effort. He just needed to find some more booze and he’d pass out again; and then the stupid heat wouldn’t bother him anymore. Speaking of which... He groggily lifted an arm up just to discover that his bottle was empty. Shit. Of course, that had to happen. Husk groaned and contemplated his life choices. Why was the booze always empty when he needed it most? He’s just been trying to forget the last thing he remembered. It couldn’t be that hard, he barely saw anything. Just him and _her_ , frolocking around the fucking dancefloor. Fuck, it made him want to vomit again. He turned his head around to look at the floor. Huh. Considering he already successfully vomitted onto the floor, he could just keep doing that then. He swallowed it down again, however. Everything was disguisting enough already. He clamped his eyes shut and wondered if there was still liquor in the cabinets. Although the bottles scattered around him did seem to imply that the answer was a fucking No. Shit. That meant he’d have to go outside to get more. Or to request a delievery - if these assholes would even fucking deliever to him and not just drink it all up on the spot. But even if the delievery would go through without an hitch, he’d still have to get up and open the door. Fuck. Shit, shit, fuck. He couldn’t pass out without enough booze, and it’s been a while since he’d completely emptied his stash. He hadn’t been to the casino in a while, either, so the money-situation wasn’t as great as it could be. Husk groaned and rolled onto his side. His head hurt - fuck that, everything hurt. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate something and considering the circumstances, that might even be better like that. 

Behind the door, the radio hummed in the softest tunes.

Did he even have food still? Maybe his fridge was as empty as his cabinet. Booze had priority, though. He could make it without food, easy-peasy. But he couldn’t go without his poison. He had to get up. He’d scratch some money together and just get whatever he’d get for that. Don’t roll down. Instead, he slowly sat up and the world was spinning like the caroussel he’d been on when he was younger. Fuck. Money. Get out. Get booze. Get the fuck back on his couch. He could do this. Fucking hell, this wasn’t his first rodeo. It’d be cooler outside anyway.

He stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed all the money out of his kitchen drawer. It wasn’t much, but it would do for a few bottles and maybe he could even buy on pump. Husk didn’t bother to lock his door. What would these assholes steal? They’d be welcome to take his ugly rug away from him. Come to think of it, he didn’t even know if he owned a key at all. He must’ve had it at some point, right? No point in a door with a lock on it if there was no key attached to it, but these were thoughts for a time that’d never come around ‘cause he couldn’t be bothered wasting thoughts on shit like that. It was too bright outside; he immediately decided. He could barely see a fucking thing. Shit, he still had to throw up. Hopefully he could get this over with as soon as demonly possible. He clutched his money-satchel to his chest and started walking. It was still hot.

At least the liquor store wasn’t that full. Of course there’d always be a few assholes here and usually he didn’t mind them, but today didn’t shape itself to be a great day.They were too loud and they smelled like they fucked filthy pigs. Shit. Just grab a few things and get the fuck out of here again. He didn’t even know how much money he had on him but Rhodney would tell him when he tried to buy more. “Husk, haven’t seen ya for a hot while. Still haven’t drunk yourself to stupidity, eh?” Fucking Rhodney. Fucking Canadians. Husk was barely hanging on to the counter and this fucking Bull Demon wanted to do _small-talk_. “How are things with your boyfriend?” _Fucking Rhodney._ They teased him about the fucking Radio Demon every godforsaken time and right now, he couldn’t take that shit. Normally he’d just shrug it off but today just hit different. His own sad confession to himself didn’t fucking help, either. “Just ring me the fuck up before I fucking vomit all over your ugly floor.” Rhodney sighed dramatically, but did as ordered. Fucking Rhodney. If the Angels got him, that’d be good. It’d be horrible for this nice store, but fucking hell, that guy was a thorn in his backside. But - He got booze. Just six bottles, yeah, but booze was booze. It’d get him though the day and hopefully, he wouldn’t wake up for tomorrow. Let Future-Husk worry about more booze and where the fuck to get the money from, Present-Husk had everything he needed at the moment. Now he just needed to get home without keeling over.

Getting back was surprisingly easy. The bottles were safe, no one bothered him - there had been a major car crash a few meters away from him but that wasn’t anything to worry about. He couldn’t sworn though that there hadn’t been more than one car on the road. Whatever. He didn’t give a shit. He just wanted to get back inside, get drunk and fucking pass out again. When he got inside, it did feel a bit cooler. Maybe he just had to leave for a moment. It also didn’t smell as bad anymore. Good. Good. He shut the door behind him and made his way to the couch. He was tired. Maybe he should sleep for a spell before drinking. Yes. That was a good idea. His head wouldn’t hurt anymore after that, and he could get drunk without wasting it.

Behind the door, the radio hummed a little louder.

He woke up, and it wasn’t as dark. Did he turn the lights on? But it was still so hot, fucking damnit. He looked over to the table next to the couch. There his precious bottles were. Confusion sank in, though. Where were the others? He’d emptied his whole cabinet, where did all the empty bottles go? Did he clean them out and just forgot? With this hammering headache, he doubted it but he also didn’t have it in him to think too much on it. They were simply gone and he should be happy he didn’t have to clean them up anymore. Husk wanted to reach out for one of the bottles, but - his arms wouldn’t move. And he agreed with them. It was so much effort to reach out and grab the bottle. And come to think of it, he even needed to open the fucking cap, too. Shit. Shit, he just wanted to sleep. But he should go and open the window. It was so hot in here. He whimpered quietly. He didn’t wanna be awake and fucking _sober_. “Husk.” He curled up on himself. No. He didn’t want anything. He just wanted to sleep, in the best case scenario forever and never interact with anything ever again. There were _they_ \- glowing, under the spotlight, and her dress was flowing and the flaps of his fucking tuxedo moved with her _he didn’t wanna see that-_ “Husk, look at me.” He shook his head. Maybe this could be a fucking dream and he didn’t want that. “Husk. You weren’t answering my calls and now I find you here, sick. What were you thinking?” Husk peeled an eye open. There he was. The fucking Radio Demon, the man he was in fucking love with and that he hoped to never see again. He opened his mouth to say something but decided against it and instead burrowed his head into the sofa cushion. There was a sigh above him and a surprisingly gentle hand landed on his head. “Don’t worry, dear friend. I’ll make sure you’ll get well again.” Husk knew that that was a threat more than a promise but - It was nice. It meant he’d stay, at least for a while. Maybe he’ll never get more than this, but - it was nice.

And one day, it’d be enough, too.


End file.
